Freedom in Restraint
by neutralgray
Summary: Morgan needs help forgetting a reoccurring trauma and Reid is well-suited to provide it. Warnings: Light bondage, D/s, reference to childhood sexual abuse.


It doesn't happen very often, but he's adept at predicting when these rare occasions will arise. The evening is usually quiet, a continuation of their silent drive home after a significantly arduous case; both of them entering the house with few words exchanged.

But perhaps that's part of the tainted beauty of it; dialogue isn't necessary, involuntary body language read almost effortlessly. The extent of their familiarity is an impressive feat indeed, even for profilers whose livings are made from their ability to analyze human behaviour.

After a simple dinner for two (neither have the patience for toiling at this point), they retire to the living room which provides a muted, unobtrusive environment. The television is on a low volume, its flickering screen a stage for some program offering mindless background activity that, despite its simplicity, aids in distracting a wandering mind.

Approximately thirty minutes after their migration to the living room, he'll feel an increase of pressure on his corduroy-covered thighs as the other lowers himself sideways so his head and neck are supported by lean legs.

Reid doesn't acknowledge him immediately, just continues to idly turn the pages of his book and maintain an even posture. It's only when the sound of a sigh, edges faintly tinged with desperation, reaches his ears that he acquiesces, reaching over to the small side table and deposits the paperback upon it.

Looking down he sees that Morgan has gone quite still, as though making an attempt to feign disinterest. A tiny chuckle wishes to escape his diaphragm, but he contains the humourless reaction. It's no laughing matter. The other man's gaze is fixed determinedly on the screen, but Reid registers the faint tapping of fingers against the edge of the couch cushion, an anticipatory reveal.

Lowering his arms, Reid rests one hand firmly on Morgan's shoulder while the other strokes over his closely shaved scalp carefully; smoothing back and forth patiently, cool and dry.

In some way, this provides a source of relaxation for Morgan's body, an initial feeling of reassurance, but at the same time, Reid can detect a note of eagerness in the way he tilts his head toward the touch. Leaning down so his bent torso allows his lips to be mere millimeters from Morgan's ear, Reid's voice is firm as he murmurs "What do you need, Derek?"

Need, not want. He's become a good selector of appropriate phrases to use, each specific to the situation at hand.

Angling his head slightly so his eyes are inspecting Reid's chin, apparently, Morgan says "I – I need ... need to forget," and it's evident that he's fighting to keep his breathing slow, measured.

It's an unnecessary precaution, being so guarded, as Reid is well aware of his partner's requirements. "You need me to help you forget, Derek?" his tone is understanding, not pitying. The latter is not something either appreciates the other giving, intentionally or not.

Morgan's line of sight moves up to meet Reid's and he nods slowly, not a trace of uncertainty marring his facial expression as he holds the other man's gaze. Returning the movement of agreement, Reid ceases rubbing Morgan's head and instead focuses on moving him off his lap so he can stand before turning back toward the couch and gesturing for Morgan to rise as well, knowing a proffered limb for support is not needed at this point in the evening. He does, however, take Morgan's extended hand in his only once he's ascended and leads the way from the living space and down the dimly lit hallway at the end of which awaits their bedroom.

The corridor itself is relatively bare. The walls are sparingly adorned with picture frames; one is of Fran, Desiree and Sarah in their Chicago backyard in the summer and the other has captured Diana during a particularly lucid time that Reid visited her at Bennington. Aside from those, an old chew of Clooney's lies neglected by the baseboard on the slightly matted carpeting, accompanied a few meters down by a single sock that must have slipped from a pile of laundry as it was transferred to the dresser unit and gone unnoticed. Morgan's avoiding looking around, though; solemn eyes fixated on his and Reid's clasped hands as they reach the doorway of their room, a tangible anchorage of sorts for him to take hold of.

Reid enters first, extracting his hand and easing Morgan onto the edge of the mattress before flipping the small lamp atop his bedside table on, casting the room in a warm glow. Returning his focus to the man sitting on the bed, he takes in his posture; shoulders slumped forward and hands gripping the loose sheets half-heartedly. It's an appearance that could easily be mistaken for defeat, if the observer is not as well versed in his body language as Reid is, for he recognizes it to be of fatigue rather than acquittal.

Stepping forward so he's between the other's slightly spread knees, Reid catches Morgan's chin and tilts it up toward his, mutually knowing eyes meeting once again. He holds them there, maintaining the connection as he speaks. "Can you tell me what you need to forget, Derek?" He doesn't require the answer, having deduced the cause of his partner's distress earlier in the afternoon, but perhaps a little acknowledgement from the source of its bearer would prove to be an adequate place to continue from.

Morgan's voice is low, but a whine of slightly higher a pitch can be detected as he struggles to share the words that have congealed into a series of taunting thoughts at the figurative front of his mind. For him to be so unravelled indicates the severity of the situation, Reid determines as he listens. "It's the eyes, Spencer. I – they'd finally gone away but something must have triggered it recently and it's messing with my head again. Every time I close my eyes, I see theirs reflected back at me, just emptily staring, you know? And I – I don't know how to make it stop. I just want to have it go away again so I can sleep for more than a few hours a night." He pauses to take a breath before continuing with "That's why I need you; need you to help me forget them. Well -" he flushes – "that's not the only reason, of course. I always need you..." Morgan trails off, somewhat glad to have revealed the information, now trying to detach his gaze from Reid's, who has been taking in the information attentively.

"I know just the thing, Derek. But you need to take off your clothes and I'll go get what we need." Reid's voice is firm but leaves a hint of room for Morgan to be comfortable with; this is about continuing to provide him with a source to invest his trust and safety in and Reid knows that for Derek Morgan to agree to his suggestions, the implication is that he's an outlet of unparalleled quality and reassurance.

Stepping away from the bed, Reid walks to the closet, ensuring that his posture radiates a calm, poised air. He's not pretending, though. When he's with Derek he encounters no hesitation, no doubt in his abilities. It's an enviable aspect of their bond, being able to complement each other so seamlessly and to this day, it's something they both marvel at privately.

The storage space is neatly organized, each item has its designated space so between his eidetic memory and tidy habits, it takes Reid mere seconds to locate the theme of his search. Perched on a shelf in the middle of the stack lies an unremarkable black box which he removes before turning back to Morgan, who is still sitting on the edge of the mattress but divested of all clothing now. Perhaps he's somehow convinced himself of its factuality, but Reid perceives Morgan's eyes to darken slightly upon catching a glimpse of the item in his hands. Joining him once more, Reid puts the box on the nightstand before indicating to Morgan to help him pull the duvet back so it's situated at the foot of the bed.

Small task completed, he murmurs "Lie on your back for me," and watches while Morgan nods minutely to himself, knees hitting the edge before slowly crawling to the center and rotates so he's looking at Reid intently, awaiting his next instruction. He doesn't appear vulnerable, though. This kind of exposure doesn't make him feel unsafe or distrustful; when he's alone with Reid, Morgan knows he needn't fear for his well-being because if he really thinks about it, Reid's predominant concern is him, he comes first. It's an odd concept for Morgan to wrap his head around, that someone cares about him so deeply and purely that he can let himself be looked after, let himself break down like he has now. From a distance, it feels slightly reminiscent of how Carl had first "taken care of him," but he's quickly come to realize that his relationship with Reid couldn't be more contrasting to what he and Carl had. With Reid, reciprocation is welcome, as is the ability to say "no" and be confident in the fact that the other will honour that requirement. And, somewhat surprisingly, it feels good to have someone he needs just as much as they need him. An unusual realization at first, difficult to adjust to, but he's certainly come to appreciate what they have.

As Reid moves to accompany him on the bed now, Morgan is overcome by the sheer respect and appreciation he has for the other man; when he's so worn down like this it can be a little overwhelming to remember that he has Reid to turn to, but it's something he's forever grateful for.

Settled by Morgan's side, Reid frames the other man's face with his hands, tilting it toward him; thumbs smoothing over his closed eyelids, feeling the delicacy of the skin and observing how the faint shadows cast by his lashes accentuate the half circles of darkness under his eyes. Leaning in slightly, he brushes his lips over the smudges, as though trying to caress them away. He certainly knows how it feels to constantly look exhausted, his own face mirrors Morgan's, he realizes a little belatedly after pulling back.

"I'll take good care of you, Derek, okay? But if I do something that you don't like or it's too much, you use the safewords. Tell them to me now, please." Reid's voice is steady, eyes holding Morgan's as he waits for the answers.

"'Yellow' for when we need to check in and slow things down, and 'red' to stop everything immediately." Morgan's reply is calm and measured; he's ready. Ready to let himself go under Reid, ready to forget.

"Good." After running his hands down his shoulders and arms, Reid grasps Morgan's wrists firmly, bringing them up to his mouth to apply a few open-mouthed kisses over the skin before raising them to touch the rails of the headboard. "Keep still for a moment," he said while reaching back to the nightstand to retrieve two sets of lined handcuffs from the box. He moves with a practiced ease; working efficiently to fasten the rings around both frames, ensuring to achieve a snugness that would be simultaneously practical and comfortable. Satisfied, he murmurs "How's that, Derek?"

Morgan lets out a soft sigh, testing the hold of the cuffs by exerting a small amount of outward force and whispers "Perfect." As long as he can easily see Spencer and verbally communicate, he's comfortable. When he gets tied up, he's never situated on his front; that much has always been a constant.

Slipping quietly from the bed, Reid removes his clothes; a simple button up, a pair of cords and loose briefs. He opts to leave his socks on, the worn fabric adorned with green and white stripes as well as small music notes. It's something he suspects Morgan of appreciating and although the other man hasn't been outright with admittance, Reid's seen him regarding his socks with a fond expression, even helping him to launder them. The recollection makes him smile absently and he has to give his head a little shake, a physical reminder to refocus on Morgan, who's observing his movements with an air of curiosity, admiration and a hint of arousal.

Reid grabs the tube of lubricant and a couple of condoms from the nightstand drawer before placing them on the side of the mattress just in case and perching between Morgan's extended legs. Catching his partner's eye, he scoots back a bit and stretches out at the end of the bed to brush his lips over the arch of one of his feet; cool hand curling around the ankle as he slowly travels along smooth skin. He gives a few nips to Morgan's muscular calf before switching to the other leg to lick at the back of his knee, causing Morgan to give a little gasp; that area is sensitive and Reid knows it as he continues to mouth over the spot. He runs his cheek over the tender skin of Morgan's inner thigh, smattering of facial hair along his jaw creating an enticing rub of friction and the other man gives a low groan for his efforts, straining a little against the handcuffs. It gives Reid some satisfaction to be able to draw such a reaction from Morgan, who's known for his composure as well as his ability to impact others, so it's an inspiring feeling.

Shifting up along his chest, Reid runs his tongue along the crux of Morgan's groin and moves upward to wind around his belly button, the trail of pubic hair tickling his chin slightly as he goes. His hands massage along defined thighs, contrasting his teasing tongue by providing a placating motion for Morgan's body, which has tensed as its arousal increases. Reaching Morgan's upper torso, Reid asks, curious to confirm the effect he's having, "How do you feel, Derek?"

Morgan's eyes are shut as he grunts, "Nnn, feel good. You make me feel good, Spencer. Better."

"I'm glad," Reid replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he runs his palm in slow circles over Morgan's belly because he doesn't think Derek realizes that his eyes are indeed closed; something he's been trying so hard not to do. Maybe a distraction _was_ just what he needed.

During times like these, comfort isn't necessarily derived from the sex itself, but rather from knowing that the connection between the two of them is real; in these situations, it's Reid's job to help Morgan remember that so he can temporarily forget. Paradoxically intriguing, but the truth nevertheless. So in this moment, bound to the bedframe yet open and free, Morgan is at his safest. Neither feels like having penetrative sex now because it's really not about that. Being able to get Morgan grounded simply through restraint and knowing touches is a rewarding high to reach and it's enough. It's not about pain or orgasm delay (or even orgasming at all); it's about recalling the support system the two of them have and using it as anchorage.

Reid checks anyway. "Do you need me to make love to you, Derek? Make you come?"

Morgan's already shaking his head. "Not tonight, Spencer. This – having you take care of me – has been just what I needed. I – I'm glad I have you."

"And I'm glad I can be here for you," Reid tells him, hands returning to Morgan's wrists once more to unfasten the cuffs, rubbing the now-exposed skin gently.

It might be strange or difficult to understand how such a brief encounter could be so beneficially significant, but its effectiveness had been proven many times prior and it can be reassuring to have a specialized routine to turn to when required.

Returning the handcuffs to their box and the unused supplies to the drawer, Reid rolls his shoulders a few times, uncoiling his own body before stretching out beside Morgan. Slowly, Morgan inches over and rests his head on Reid's chest, the other man's heartbeat providing another lifeline for him to grasp. As he closes his eyes, he no longer sees those of their cases' victims staring hauntingly back at him; just calming, enveloping darkness. It's temporary, he knows that, but it'll do for now.

Sensing his partner's drowsiness, Reid flicks off his lamp, hand moving back up to stroke Morgan's head again, quiet and calm.


End file.
